


Storm Season

by clgfanfic



Category: Kung Fu: The Legend Continues, Walker Texas Ranger
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and his dad travel to Texas for a police event, but then Peter disappears, and Caine must turn to locals for help.  Luckily, he meets a particular Texas Ranger and his partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm Season

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Anything Goes #5 and later in Black Ops #6 under the pen name Robyn Joradine. It is a co-written story with Paige Aaron.

          Father and son arrived at the isolated country site sooner than Peter expected, the drive from the airport going relatively smoothly, even if he did make a couple of wrong turns along the way.  After all, it was easy to get lost in a strange city, especially one as big and sprawling as Dallas, Texas.

          _You have asked me to navigate_ , his father had said.  _Now you go your own direction.  Perhaps I should drive._

          _No!_   he'd replied.  _It's just—_

          _That you think you are… omnipotent?_

          _I do not_ , he'd argued with a grin, then admitted, _Well, sometimes…_

          His father looked smug.

          Peter turned in under a huge white banner that read: _National Law Enforcement Shooting Competition - Welcome!_ and parked the rental between two large pick-up trucks.

          "See, I found the place – eventually."

          "Yes, I see," his father replied, his only half-hidden amusement teasing Peter better than words.

          The younger man climbed out of the car and stretched.  He was excited – _like a kid at Disneyland for the first time_ , he decided with a playful grin.  _But that's okay_.  After all, he was representing his department, his city, his friends, and his co-workers.  And, Peter admitted to himself, he wanted to represent and honor the memory of Captain Paul Blaisdell, his foster father.

          It was just a shooting competition, but Peter still felt like Blaisdell was there, watching him.  Blaisdell would have been proud of the fact that he'd made it all the way to the national single-man competition, but then Paul was almost always proud of him.

He glanced at his father.  So was Kwai Chang Caine.  The realization sent a shiver sliding down his back.

          Clapping his hands together, Peter said, "Let's go find registration, then we can check the place out, scope out the competition, see what I'm up against."

          "Check and scope?"

          Peter grinned and shook his head.  His father knew exactly what he was talking about.  "Come on."

          Caine nodded and gestured for Peter to lead the way, and he did, weaving his way through the rapidly growing crowd of lawmen from across the country with cocky assurance.  His neck craning left and right, Peter scoured the grounds, looking for something labeled "registration."  He spotted a long folding table not far from the starting line for the outdoor incident course and he scooted around several well-tanned men – _gotta be the guys from Southern California_ – to reach the table.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          An older man with cowboy hat, sunglasses, and a gray mustache looked up at him and smiled, standing.  "Welcome, welcome," he said, sticking out his hand.

          Peter shook the proffered palm, saying, "Hi, I'm Peter Caine, from—"

          "Caine… Caine…" the man said, immediately checking a list secured on a clipboard.  "Caine, Peter.  Individual competition finalist.  Glad you could make it, Detective Caine," he said.  "Name's C.D. Parker.  Texas Ranger.  Semi-retired."

          "Glad to meet you," Peter said.  "This is my father, Kwai Chang Caine."

          C.D. shook hands with Caine.  "Pleased to meet you, sir."

          Caine gave the man a slight bow.  "The pleasure is mine."

          C.D. sat back down, reached under the table, and pulled out a manila envelope that he handed to Peter.  "This is all the information you'll need on the competition.  There's a number in there, too," he added, checking the envelope and writing the number he found there down next to Peter's name on he list.  "You'll have to wear that for the competition, and we'll be startin' bright 'n early tomorrow mornin'."

          "Thank you," Peter said as C.D. turned the clipboard around and handed him a pen.

          Peter bent over to sign the registration list, then handed it back.

          "For today, take a look around, meet some of the other fine men here.  There's a baseball game about to get started, and the barbeque will get started in an hour or so.  Be sure you work up an appetite."

          "Great," Peter said.  "I'm already so hungry I could eat a horse."

          "Not in Texas, son.  We still hang folks for that around here," C.D. said seriously, smiling as Peter's expression turned uneasy.

          Caine smiled.

          "Right," Peter replied and chuckled, not too upset that he'd been so easily had.  It was obvious that Texas humor was a little odd, but he'd get used to it.  "I'll remember that."

          Peter and his father moved off, meandering through the crowds for several minutes.

          "Wish I knew some of the other competitors," Peter said, then pushed himself up onto his toes, peering over the heads of several men wearing cowboy hats.

          "What is it, Peter?" Caine asked.

          He frowned.  "Stay here, Pop.  I have to go talk to a guy…"

          "A guy?" Caine asked, trying to catch sight of the man Peter had spotted, but his son was already cutting a wake through the crowd.

          Caine looked, but couldn't immediately see Peter.  He finally caught sight of him stepping up to greet another man as two others cut off his line of sight.  Caine stepped around them, but Peter and the man were gone.

          With a quickly escalating sense of unease, Caine combed through the crowd, searching for his son.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It took C.D. a moment to realize that the quiet stranger had returned.  The man's distracted expression set warning bells ringing in the semi-retired Ranger's mind.

          "Somethin' wrong, Mr. Caine?"

          "My son.  He is… missing."

          "Well, there's lots of people here.  It'd be easy to miss—"

          "No."  The quiet force of Caine's voice stopped C.D.  "He saw someone.  Someone he wished to speak to.  He approached this man, but my view was blocked by the crowd.  When I reached the place where they had been standing, they were gone."

          The Ranger looked thoughtful.  "You said he saw someone.  Did he say who?"

          "No, but he knows no one here."

          "Damn.  His name was Caine, right?"

          "Yes.  Peter Caine."

          "Okay, let's see if he's still in hearin' range."  C.D. keyed the loudspeaker.  "Will Peter Caine please report to the registration booth?  Peter Caine to the registration booth, please."

          Several minutes passed with no response.  C.D. repeated the page a second time with no success.  Spotting two men working their way through the crowd, C.D. hailed them, motioning them over.  To Caine, he said, "These boys are genuine Texas Rangers.  If anyone can find your son, they can."

          "What's up, C.D.?" Cordell Walker questioned as they reached the table and he caught sight of C.D.'s worried expression.

          "Trouble, maybe.  Cordell, Jimmy, I want you to meet Mr. Caine.  His son's one of the individual finalists.  Thing is, he seems to be missin'."

          "Missing?" Jimmy Trivette looked at the oddly-dressed stranger.  "When did you see him last?"

          Caine explained the circumstances surrounding his son's disappearance, beginning with their arrival at the site, and Peter's recognition of someone in the crowd.

          "And you haven't seen either of them since?" Walker asked when Caine finished.

          "No.  I have not.  I looked, but there was…"  He gave a slight shrug.  "Nothing."

          "Okay, let's split up and look for him.  What's his name again?"

          "Peter Caine," his father said, then added a detailed description.

          Walker nodded.  "C.D., why don't you stay here and check this area.  Trivette, take the parking lot.  I'll scout out the competition site."

          Caine spread his hands.  "I will start where I last saw my son."

          "Fine."  The red-haired Ranger checked his watch.  "We'll meet back here in half an hour."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Exactly thirty minutes later, the searchers met again at the registration booth.  Still no sign of the missing man.

          Turning to Caine, Walker asked, "Do you think you'd recognize the man your son saw?"

          "Yes," Caine nodded.  "His features were… distinctive."

          "In what way?" Trivette wondered.

          "His nose had been broken, and he had a scar… over his left eye.  The man is no stranger to violence."

          Walker considered the information.  "Trivette, why don't you—"

          "Go back to the office and work on an I.D."  The younger man rolled his eyes, anticipating the request.  "How'd I know that was coming?"

          "Because you're the one who knows his way around a computer!" his partner grinned.

          "Yeah, right."

          "C.D. and I'll check the crowd for witnesses.  Maybe someone saw them.  I'll call you later."

          Nodding, Trivette turned to Caine.  "Sir, if you'll come with me we'll go down to the station and see if we can't get a composite sketch put together.  That'll give us something more concrete to work with."

          "Please, call me Caine."  The older man bowed slightly.

          "My friends call me Jimmy."

          As they walked in the direction of the Ranger's car, Caine asked, "Then… Ranger Walker is not your friend?"

          Laughing, his companion answered, "He's my partner."

          "Ah.  I see."

          Trivette did a double-take, sensing the man did see, and understand.  Too few people, including family, knew what being partners really meant.  Then again, some knew all too well.

          "Does your son have a partner?" Jimmy asked, cautiously.

          "No.  Not like you and Ranger Walker.  But he has many friends."

          "Guess it's up to us, then."  At Caine's puzzled look, Trivette clarified, "To find your son."

          "Yes."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A composite took painstaking detail and time, but Caine's memory and his ability to verbalize that memory helped the process along tremendously.  Within two hours, they had the sketch, and less than half an hour later, a name to go with it.

          "Bingo!"  Trivette grabbed the page as it came out of the printer, studying the man's face intently.  Caine was right.  Carl Limon was no stranger to violence, or hatred.

          A few more keystrokes gave Trivette a list with Limon's last known address, associates, and hang-outs.  "Now we're getting somewhere."

          "You have… a lead?"

          Trivette had nearly forgotten his companion; the man had fallen silent after he finished the composite and remained quiet.  "It's a start," he acknowledged, grabbing his hat.

          "I will come with you."  The older man stood in one graceful move.

          "Uh, I don't think that's such a good idea, Mr. Caine.  This address is a hangout for some of the worst slime we've got records on."

          One shoulder tipped up, then down.  "Then it would be better if you did not go alone.  I will be no trouble."

          Trivette thought for a moment.  It would be nice to get a definite identification, and— "Okay, but you stay in the car."  Letting a civilian get hurt on a ride-along would not win him any points with the captain, or Walker.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          As they pulled out into traffic, Trivette dialed Walker's cell-phone.  The other man answered almost immediately.

          "Yeah, Walker, we got a name on our suspect.  Carl Limon, and he's got a record; arrests in Washington, Idaho, Montana, Nevada, and New York.  Assaults, weapons charges, and drunk and disorderly.  Peter Caine was the arresting officer on one of the cases.  Anyway, the guy moved down here two months ago, registered with the Probation Department.  The address he gave is – get this – the same building DPS thinks is a militia headquarters over on south Jackson.  I'm heading over there now to check it out."

          "The militia?  Trivette, don't do anything until I get there.  Understand?  I mean it."

          "You've got twenty-five minutes, buddy.  Then I'm goin' in," the younger Ranger cheerfully announced.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Trivette!"

          Jimmy hung up, a smile on his face.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Thirty-five minutes and still no Walker.  Trivette checked his watch one more time.  Well, he'd warned his partner and given him plenty of time to join the fun.  He reached for the car door handle, but paused when two men exited the storefront carrying cardboard boxes.

          The men loaded the cartons into the back of a battered blue pick-up parked along the curb.  They returned inside as Limon stepped out, carrying another box.  A set of blinds on the windows and door effectively cut off any examination of the interior of the storefront.

          "Looks like they're packing up to leave," Jimmy said, a concerned expression settling over his face.  He didn't like the implication.  "Stay here," he told Caine.

          "I should come with you."

          "No," Jimmy said forcefully, meeting the older man's gaze.  "I can't place you at risk.  You just stay here."

          Caine neither agreed or disagreed.

          Trivette climbed out of the car and walked over to the door Limon had just re-entered.  Taking a deep breath, he stepped to the side of the glass door, reached out, and knocked.

          "Whadda ya want?" someone called.

          "Texas Ranger, I'd like—"

          A blast interrupted, the glass door shattering.  Trivette turned, protecting his face with his arms as the sharp shards blew into the street.  "Jeeze," he hissed under his breath.  "I just wanted to talk."

          Then, drawing his weapon, he jerked the empty doorframe open and entered the building low.  Smoke and dust filled the sparsely furnished room.  He crept forward, noting the two sofas, a table, a whiteboard, and a desk as he watched for any signs of movement.  On the walls hung a Nazi flag and a poster proudly proclaiming 'White Power!'

          One of the porters bolted from a back room and Trivette sprang to his feet.  "Freeze!"

          The red-haired man stumbled to a stop, his hands coming up.

          Jimmy took a step forward, but movement flashing from the corner of his eye prompted him to dive for cover just before a second shotgun blast blew out part of the glass front wall.  He scrambled behind the heavy wood desk for protection, then fired around the side.  The second box carrier fell as Red bolted for the door, took one step outside, then flew back in.

          Trivette's eyes widened as Caine stepped into the room.  "Get down!" he called.

          The Ranger saw Limon dart past the door and into the back room as three more men rushed into the main office.

          "Get him," Caine directed.

          Jimmy hesitated a moment, not sanguine about leaving a civilian in a lurch.  Caine kicked the nine millimeter automatic out of the first man's hand.  With a grin, Trivette charged after Limon, barely escaping one of the attackers as he flew back into the wall and slid down, unconscious.  Caine could obviously take care of himself.

          "You're gonna die, Chink," one of the two men growled.  "You and your nigger friend."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The priest glanced curiously at the two remaining men, wondering why they were so full of hate.  The man who had lost his gun charged and Caine's leg snapped out, his foot slapping the side of the man's head.  He dropped as his companion rushed in, his weapon coming up to fire.  A snap kick and the gun went flying.

          Caine stepped in closer to the man, the back of his fist connecting with the attacker's temple.  He fell with a heavy _thud_.  Caine turned, ready for another attacker.

          Walker stood in the open doorway, a look of admiration on his face.  "Where's Trivette?"

          "Following Limon," Caine replied, turning slightly toward the rear door.

          Walker bolted for the opening, moving through with his gun drawn.  Caine followed the Ranger.

          A quick search of the back rooms turned up nothing.  Walker pushed open a rear door, the two men stepping out into an empty alley.

          "Damn," Walker said, shoving the gun back into its holster.  "Limon's got him."

          Caine nodded once.  "And my son."

          "We'll find them," Walker said softly, the intensity of his voice implying a promise rather than a statement.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Alex was on the phone when Walker entered her office after a half-knock.  The grim expression on the Ranger's face told her he hadn't stopped by for a friendly chat.

          She noted the stranger who accompanied him rather than his partner.  "Jack, let me get back to you with that court date, okay?  Thanks."  She hung up the phone, giving Walker her full attention.  "What's up?  I thought you and Jimmy were tracking down a lead on a missing person."

          "We were," the Ranger answered.  Nodding at his companion, he said, "This is Kwai Chang Caine, the father of the missing man."  He turned to Caine.  "And this is Assistant District Attorney Alex Cahill."

          "I am pleased to meet you."  Caine bowed slightly.

          A small smile curved the woman's lips.  "Thank you, but how can I help?  Where's Jimmy?"

          Walker clenched his fist at the mention of his partner's name.  "I don't know.  We think the same people responsible for Peter Caine's disappearance grabbed Trivette."  He ignored her startled look and continued, "I was hoping you'd have some information on this guy."  He handed her the composite that Caine had helped compile.

          "I've seen his picture somewhere else recently.  Who is he?"

          "Carl Limon.  Apparently, Peter Caine spotted him at the shooting competition and took off after him.  No one's seen either man since.  Trivette and Caine went to check on his last known address – the militia headquarters on south Jackson.  I told him to wait for backup, but it looked like the guys were closing up shop, so he went in."

          "Alone?"

          "Not quite.  We had evened out the numbers, but the man we were seeking slipped out the back.  Ranger Trivette pursued him."  The quiet voice and odd cadence did nothing to detract from the powerful sense of presence the man exuded.

          _I've been hanging around Walker too long!_   Aloud, the blonde only said, "And now no one's seen Jimmy, either?"

          "Right," Walker replied.  "Do you have _any_ information on this guy, Alex?"

          She walked over to a filing cabinet, opened the drawer and thought for a moment before she finally pulled out a slim folder.  Opening it, she skimmed the contents before handing it over to Walker.  "Not much.  You already know most of it.  He's got a record in several states, although somehow he always manages to get probation.  Anyway, he decided he wanted to move to Texas, and got permission from his local probation department.  They transferred the case here two months ago.  Since his arrival in Texas, Limon has stayed out of trouble.  He's reported weekly to his probation officer, held down a job, and seems to be complying with the terms of his probation.  He hasn't even gotten so much as a parking ticket.  The only reason I have anything on him is that I received a memo from his probation officer.  She's concerned that Limon's address is the same as Henry Bojammer's, the suspected leader of the so-called Metroplex Militia.  Now Bojammer's not wanted, nor has he ever been convicted, so Limon isn't breaking his probation, but since Limon has ties to several paramilitary organizations around the country she was suspicious.  But that's not a crime, so I wasn't able to take any action other than file it away."

          "Damn!"  Walker stroked his beard as he tried to figure out where to turn next.  "Do you have a picture of Bojammer?"

          "Yes."  She pulled out a black-and-white photo and handed it over.

          The Ranger held it out to Caine.  "Was this man at the headquarters?"

          "No."

          "Okay, he's got to be around somewhere, and we're going to find him.  First, let's check Bojammer's file.  The feds should have something on him.  If we can figure out who he's hanging around with, maybe we can shake an address loose."  He stalked toward the door, yanking it open.

          "Walker…"  Alex cleared her throat, then said, "Good luck.  And be careful.  These guys don't have a reputation for cooperating with the law."

          "That's their problem, Alex."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Pulling the information from the computer would have been quicker, but Walker had suspended himself from the state system the day before and hadn't bothered to get someone to log him back on.  Besides, the computer was Trivette's domain.

          Walker settled for pulling in a favor, then burying himself in Bojammer's extensive file folder.  He settled at his desk, barely registering that Caine had settled in the chair across from him.

          _Well, at least he didn't try sitting at Trivette's desk._   Keeping his mind off his missing partner took more work than he would have believed.  _If only Trivette had waited a little longer!  If only I hadn't gotten caught in that traffic jam.  If only…_

          With conscious effort, he concentrated on searching the file for the necessary information.  Finally, he found a list of known associates – militia members, white supremacists – and hangouts.

          "Let's go."  He jumped to his feet, striding briskly for the door.

          Caine didn't question the destination.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Walker pulled up and parked behind the small, seedy bar.  Walking to the rear of his pick-up, he lowered the tailgate, then headed for the rear door.  Caine followed.

          The Ranger paused.  "Look, I appreciate what you did earlier, but I can't take a civilian in here."

          Caine presented Walker with one of his single shoulder shrugs.  "I am not a civilian.  I am a priest."

          Walker started to reply, but shook his head.  "Just be careful.  These guys don't care much for—"

          "Mixed bloods," Caine finished for him.  "I would think you would be in equal danger then."

          His companion grinned.  "Not many people realize that I'm part Cherokee."

          Caine gestured toward the door and Walker nodded.  He pulled the door open and led the way in.

          Stepping into the bar proper, Walker quickly sized up the small crowd.  Several bikers, not looking for trouble, and three or four of the militia members – if their cammo shirts and black berets were any indication.  The bartender took one look at the Ranger, rolled his eyes, then retreated into the back room.

          Walker glanced over to the bikers, recognizing one.  "Hammer," he greeted neutrally.

          "Walker," the man replied nervously.  "You got your tailgate down?"

          "Sure do."

          "Lookin' for me?"

          "Nope."

          Hammer nodded and held his hands up, palms out.  "We're cool then," he assured the Ranger.

          Walker stalked further into the room, thankful that Caine chose to remain in the shadows.  "Boys," he said calmly to the men at the bar.

          The three militia members looked from Walker's badge to his face.  "Whadaya want, Ranger?" the oldest of the three asked.

          "I'm looking for Henry Bojammer.  Seen him?"

          The oldest man shook his head.  "Can't say we have."

          "What about you men?" Walker pressed, glancing to the man's younger companions.

          They both shook their heads, but their smug grins made it clear that they were lying.

          "Funny, that's not what I heard."

          "Oh, yeah?" one of the younger men challenged, roughly shoving stringy blond hair off his forehead.  "Says who?"

          "Carl Limon," Walker said, watching their reactions.

          The older man slid off his barstool.  "I think it's time for you to leave, Ranger."

          "Not until I get an address."

          The two younger men stood and Caine stepped out from the shadows to stand slightly behind and to the left of Walker.  The four bikers eased off their stools and headed quickly for the front door.

          "You got no right comin' in here, harassin' us," the older man said, fists coming up to rest belligerently on his hips.

          "I'm just asking for a little information."

          "There's nothing here for you, Ranger."  The dark-haired young man took a step forward.  "You and your China-man friend can just get the hell outta here."

          Walker took step closer to the three men, his eyes narrowed and intense.  " _After_ you give me an address."

          The dark-haired man lunged forward, attacking the Ranger with all the grace of an angry hog.  Walker side-stepped the rush, his fist shooting out to pound the man's ribs.

          The man pulled up and turned toward Walker, who slammed a back-kick into the man's mid-section without looking away from the other two men.  The dark-haired attacker flew back into the bar, where Caine finished him off with a single blow to the head from the ball of his hand.

          The other two men rushed forward.  Walker stopped the young blond with a crescent kick that spun the man around and sent him crashing into the bar where he bounced off the dark wood.  Walker stepped forward and grabbed the young man as Caine stepped between him and the older man.

          "Goddamned Chink," the man growled, swinging on Caine, who simply ducked to avoid the haphazard blow.

          Walker's fist landed on the blond's face, breaking his nose and leaving him unconscious on the dirty bar room floor.  He turned, watching Caine maneuver the older man into an effective neck lock, and grinned slightly.  It was nice to have backup.

          "Last chance.  Where's Bojammer?"

          "Go to hell!"

          Caine's free hand moved to the man's neck, where he used a finger to prod a pressure point.  The man squealed and Caine backed off the pressure.

          "All right, all right!" the man cried.  "Tell 'im to let me go, Ranger!"

          "An address," Walker said as Caine touched the pressure point again.

          "All right!  I'll tell you."

          Caine released the man, who complied, giving them the information.

          "Thank you," the Ranger said, turning to leave.

          The man took a step after Walker, intent on landing at least one blow of his own.

          Walker whipped around, a spinning crescent kick laying the man out on the floor.  He looked to Caine.  "Thanks for the help."

          "You're welcome."

          Walking back outside, Walker raised the tailgate of his truck, slamming it back in place.

          "What now?" Caine asked.

          "We check out that address."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Limon back-handed his captive.  Getting information out of Pete Caine had been impossible, so far, but he couldn't hold out forever.

          A rumble of thunder in the distance warned of a coming storm.  Limon smiled.  In this remote location, the storm would keep even the most curious away, and erase any tracks they might have left.

          "I want to know, Caine.  How'd you know to look for me at the competition?  Who else knows what we're planning?"

          "And I told you already.  No one."  Peter shifted in the hard wooden chair.  He'd been testing the ropes that bound his wrists behind him, but whoever had tied them had been an expert.  _Shit!  I'm in big trouble.  And no one knows where to look._

          It wouldn't stop his father from trying, he knew.  _Any time, Pop…_

          Another slap.  Grabbing Caine's shirtfront, Limon hauled him to his feet.  "You're lying, pig.  No cop in his right mind would come after us alone."

          Beyond caring, Peter replied, "Either I'm not in my right mind, or like I said, I wasn't after you in the first place."

          With a yell of fury, Limon slammed his fist into Peter's solar plexus, watching in satisfaction as his prisoner dropped to the floor, wheezing.  Circling the still man, Limon kicked him in the back.

          Peter bit back a cry of pain, desperately trying to deal with the agony as his father had taught him.  He opened his eyes, watching his tormentor stalk around to stand in front of him.  Peter prepared himself for another kick, willing his muscles to relax.

          Sounds of struggling and a yell from the door halted the blow.  Limon looked up to see Simmons and Wallace dragging a handcuffed black man between them.

          "Mud-boy here was trying to escape," Wallace explained, spitting on his captive.

          Peter tensed, waiting for all hell to break loose, but the other man stood quietly, his only reaction a tightening of the muscles in his jaw.

          Limon considered that, then grabbed Caine, hauling him to his feet and slamming him back down onto the chair before he slapped his face again.  "Who's your nigger friend, here?  Local contact?"

          Caine licked the blood from his lower lip, wincing as it stung.  "I don't know.  I never saw him before."

          "I'm getting tired of hearing that!" Limon snarled, ready to strike again, but a kick from behind knocked him off-balance, sending the militia member stumbling to his knees.

          Scrambling to his feet, Limon punched the man standing closest to him, Wallace.

          "You idiots!  Can't you keep him under control?" he snapped at his men, then met the defiant gaze of the black man.  "You'll be sorry you were ever born, pig."

          "I never liked bullies," Trivette said calmly. "Besides, he was telling the truth – he doesn't know me."

          "Maybe, maybe not," Limon allowed.  "But the two of you know something, and I want to know what it is."  He eyed his captive slowly from head to foot.  " _And_ how you found out."

          A closer crack of thunder momentarily distracted the group.

          "Even if I knew what you're talking about, why would I tell you?" Trivette finally asked.

          Grinning dangerously, Limon reached into his hip pocket, pulling out a switchblade.  Flicking it open, he waved it in front of Trivette's face.

          "Because… I can be very persuasive.  _Very_ persuasive."  He ran the blade lightly across Trivette's right cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.  "And I'm willing to bet you won't just stand there and watch someone being tortured when you could stop it."

          Moving swiftly, Limon grabbed a handful of Caine's hair, jerking his head back to expose his neck.  Without taking his gaze from Trivette's face, he held the knife under Peter's jaw.  "Tell me what you know, or he bleeds to death."

          Trivette glanced briefly at Peter before answering, "What I _know_ is that you're Carl Limon, convicted small-time arms dealer and suspected militia member.  And for whatever reason you've kidnapped a police officer and now a Texas Ranger… and that'll get you put away for a long, long time."

          Face twisted with anger, Limon abandoned Caine and before Trivette could react, the militia man rammed a fist into his stomach.  The Ranger sagged to his knees, gasping for breath.

 _Great move, Jimmy,_ Trivette congratulated himself wryly as he tried to breathe.  _But at least it got his attention off Caine._

          "You're lying.  Why else would the Rangers be involved?"  Limon stepped back, considering.  He turned to Peter.  "Why're you here, Caine?  What'd you tell the cops that they brought the Rangers in?  You know something!"

          Wearily, Peter shook his head.  "Nothing.  I don't know anything, and even if I did, I didn't have time to tell anyone before you grabbed me."

          "So you were just comin' over to say 'hello' to an old friend, right?"  Limon's sarcasm made his men laugh, and he turned to grin on them, sharing the joke.

          "Yeah, right," Caine replied in the same tone.

          "Some friend," Trivette muttered, still on his knees.

          Limon looked down at the Ranger, then grabbed his chin, forcing Trivette's head up.  "I've had enough of your mouth, nigger.  You're exactly the kind of trash we're prepared to fight.  Unpure filth who manage to blind the eyes of unsuspecting whites and rise to key positions of trust and influence—"

          "And your own family tree's so lily white that you have no doubts about your heritage, right?"

          The Ranger's sarcasm made Peter flinch.  If he meant to provoke action, he appeared to be succeeding.

          Snarling in anger, Limon lashed out with his booted foot, catching Trivette in the stomach.  Still not convinced his captive was properly subdued, he savagely backhanded him.  Blood welled from a gash on Jimmy's left cheek.

          Trivette shook his head gently in an effort to clear the angry buzzing, but quickly aborted the move as nausea threatened to overwhelm him.  He refused to puke in front of these bastards.

          Limon studied the dazed Ranger, then looked at the men still holding onto Trivette's arms.  "Y'know, boys, I think I've had all I can take from this nigger.  He doesn't know anything, so whadaya say we get rid of him, huh?  You boys in the mood for a lynchin'?"

          Their enthusiastic replies turned Peter's stomach.  Anger at his helpless situation made him struggle once again with his bonds.  "You bastards can't seriously think you'll get away with this?"

          Limon motioned the men to haul Trivette to his feet and over to the fireplace, then turned to answer Caine.  "Why not?  You're the only witness.  And once we get the information from you, you'll be joining him.  No witness, no crime."

          Peter took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.  He knew his anger, combined with the beating, were preventing him from using his Shaolin talents to free himself.  He had to calm down and get himself free.

          The building was a crude cabin, the ceiling's crossbeams visible and easily accessible.  Limon flung one end of a rope over the long center beam, tying it to a metal ring embedded in the wall nearby.  One of his men fashioned a noose out of the other end, while his companion kept hold of Trivette, who stood unresisting. 

          Caine wondered how the other man could remain so calm, but when Trivette met his gaze, his eyes showed the fear he wouldn't let his captors see.  Peter swallowed hard and gave the man a small nod.  He had to do something and do it now…

          After positioning a chair under the noose, Limon directed his men to bring Trivette forward.

          Jimmy struggled as they tried to get him on the chair.

          "Tie his damned feet," Limon snapped impatiently.

          Even tied, it took all three men to maneuver their captive onto the chair and fit the noose around his neck.

          "If you believe in God, best say your prayers, nigger," Wallace sneered, clapping Simmons on the back and grinning.  "We're gonna send this boy back to the mud be came from."

          Limon grinned too as he pulled the chair out from under Trivette.  The three men stood back, watching.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          _If I die, Walker's going to kill me for not waiting for him at the militia headquarters,_ the Ranger thought, knowing how stupid it sounded.

          He knew Caine was watching him, but couldn't meet the other man's gaze, afraid of what he'd see there.  His own death reflected?

          The abrupt removal of the chair from under his feet cut off all rational thought.  Dimly he realized that they hadn't positioned the knot correctly or he'd have been dead instantly from a broken neck.  He didn't know whether to be relieved or angry.  Death by strangulation took much longer.

          Limon, Wallace, and Simmons laughed as they watched their captive dangling from the ceiling, twisting and twitching.

          Sizing up the situation in a glance, Peter felt a rush of nausea hit.

          "You bastards!" he yelled, his temper getting the best of him.  He couldn't tear his gaze away from the struggling man hanging from the ceiling.  "You don't have enough honor to grant him a clean death!"

          Limon strode over to Caine, angrily slapping him across the face.  "Can't you be more original, boy?  Besides," he grinned maliciously, "we all know our parentage."

          "Yeah," Peter couldn't resist muttering as Limon walked away.  "A bunch of horses' asses, I'll bet."

          The other man froze in his steps, slowly turning to stare at his captive.  "Watch your mouth, pig.  Or you'll join your friend, and we'll make sure you die slower."

          "Hey, Limon!  I think he's about had it!" Wallace yelled.

          Limon spun around, watching as Trivette's struggles ceased.  Only an occasional muscle twitch indicated he still lived.

          "Take this pig out to the shed!" he gestured to Caine.  Wallace and Simmons quickly hauled Peter out of the chair and hustled him outside.

          Caine didn't know whether to be relieved or angry about be spared watching the other man die.  Silently, he promised vengeance to the unknown officer.

          The immediate storm threat had passed, but lightning still flashed in the distance, promising yet another electric display.  _Perfect atmosphere,_ Peter thought sourly.

          His captors stopped in front of a wooden equipment shed, unlocking the padlock.  The door opened to reveal an empty interior with no window or other means of real ventilation.

          _Great!  They hang the Ranger and they're going to roast me!_ Peter thought numbly as they shoved him inside.  Off-balance, he stumbled and hit his head against the opposite wall, the world blinking out.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The sound of ragged breathing greeted Peter when he regained consciousness.  As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior he could barely make out another figure lying about five feet away.

          _Could it be…?  No, they hanged him!_ Still, the Ranger _had_ been alive when Peter had been taken from the room.

          _First things first.  Gotta get out of these ropes._   Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he concentrated on making himself limber.  He'd never actually done this, but knew how it could be accomplished.  And after a slight struggle, he maneuvered his hands in front of him, picking at the knotted rope with his teeth.

          "Ah!" he yelled in triumph as the rope finally gave way.  He rushed to the other captive's side, concerned that he hadn't stirred since Peter had awakened.

          The lack of light hampered him, but Peter could see clearly enough to be sure that it was the Ranger.  Using his hands, he made a quick examination.  The handcuffs still kept the other man's hands behind his back.  _Damn!_   That complicated things.

          Next he checked Trivette's neck, knowing that swelling could be fatal.  His hands encountered the rope, still tied around the Ranger's neck, and swore softly under his breath.

          As he tried to loosen the noose, a sharp intake of breath alerted him to the Ranger's return to consciousness.  Although the other man's hands and feet were restrained, he tried to kick out at Peter.

          "Hey, easy, man!"  Caine grabbed the closest leg and squeezed hard.  "I'm one of the good guys, okay?  I'm just trying to help you out a little bit."  He hung on to the leg until he felt the tension ease.

          The Ranger tried speaking, but found he had to clear his throat twice before anything intelligible came out.  "You're Peter Caine, right?"

          Peter winced at the raw voice.  He lifted the noose over the other man's head, nodding as he did so.  Then he remembered the gesture probably couldn't be seen.  "Yeah.  How'd you know?"

          "We— my partner and I were at the competition.  Your father asked for help when you disappeared."

          "Ah.  I figured he would."  Peter paused a moment.  "Y'know, in all the confusion,   I never did get your name."

          That got him a painful-sounding laugh.  "Trivette.  Jimmy Trivette.  And I'd shake your hand, but I'm a little tied up right now."

          "Yeah, that can be a problem.  You wouldn't happen to have a spare handcuff key, would you?"  Peter knew the question sounded stupid, but figured it had to worth a try.

          Trivette coughed before answering,  "Matter of fact, I do.  Taped just inside the top of my left boot.  Figured you might never know when it could come in handy."

          "Convenient."  Caine quickly located the key under a piece of duct tape and unlocked the cuffs.  He eased them away from raw wrists.

          "Yeah."  Trivette hissed as Peter's fingers inadvertently brushed the broken skin left by the cuffs.  "What I can't figure out is why they left us alive."

          Throwing the cuffs aside, Peter answered, "Maybe they just couldn't stomach killing us outright.  Although they came damn close with you."  He got up to test the strength of the one door, finding it to be more than sufficient to hold them in their current conditions.

          Trivette considered Caine's theory as he untied his feet.  "No.  These guys wouldn't blink twice with the opportunity they had.  There's some other reason; you can count on it."

          Caine joined Jimmy in leaning against the wall.  "Well, if you figure it out, let me know."

          Clearing his throat again, Trivette rasped, "You know who these guys are?"

          "Only Limon," Peter answered.  "I arrested him once.  He beat the rap and left the state.  But I heard through the grapevine that he'd picked up where he left off."

          "If you mean white supremacist, militia groups, you're right.  They got me while I was checking out their local headquarters."  Trivette shook his head, wincing as muscles protested.  "My partner warned me to wait for back-up.  Guess I should've listened.  But I wasn't exactly alone."

          "What d'you mean?"

          "Your father's one hell of a martial artist."  Admiration tinged Trivette's tone.  "I think he could give Walker – my partner – a fair fight.  And there aren't too many people who could."

          "Pop's a Shaolin priest."  Peter shifted position, trying to ease his own various aches and pains without success.  "He taught me a lot of what I know, for all the good that did me this time."

          Jimmy couldn't help a bitter laugh that ended in a cough.  "Looks like we both need more lessons."

          Both men lapsed into a comfortable silence, conserving their strength.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Loud voices and rough hands startled them out of sleep some time later.  Limon stood at the open doorway, gun in hand, watching as Simmons and Wallace hauled the captives to their feet.

          Trivette bit back a moan as stiffened muscles protested the harsh treatment.  Any upper body movement sent knives of pain through him.  A quick glance at Caine indicated he felt pretty much the same.

          "I think we're going to find out why they've kept us around so long," Peter muttered as they were dragged outside.

          "Yeah," answered Jimmy.  "And I don't think we're going to like it."

          "Shut up!" Limon demanded.  Gesturing to the cabin, he said, "Henry, these are the pigs I told you about."

          A tall, blond man with sharp, harsh features stepped from the shadow of the doorway.  He held a coiled length of rope in his hand.  "So, they've been uncooperative?  We'll have to see what we can do about that."  He slapped the coils gently against his hand, grinning.

          _No, not rope, a whip,_ Trivette realized, fear washing over him.  As if the hanging hadn't been bad enough…

          "Tie the nigger to the tree," Bojammer instructed.  Looking over at Peter, he said, "You could spare him this.  Tell me what you know, and I'll give him a quick death."

          Watching as Simmons and Limon manhandled Jimmy to the tree and cuffed him facing the trunk, Peter swallowed hard.  He knew his answer meant more suffering for the Ranger.  He struggled against Wallace's tight grip, but to no use.

          "Like I keep telling these goons, I went after Limon because I recognized him as someone I busted a while ago.  No one sent me to find him.  I don't know anything about any plans."  Knowing he signed their death warrants with his words, Caine continued, "You can beat and torture us until we're senseless, but the answer's not going to change.  And if you kill us, you'll be facing capital murder charges."

          "Argh!" Bojammer yelled in frustration.  Uncoiling the whip, he snapped it in Trivette's direction.

          Peter flinched as it bit into the Ranger's back.  _When is this going to stop?_

          Trivette heard the whistle of the whip as it cut through the air, but managed not to react beyond a grimace when it scored his back.

          "Ah, the strong, silent type," Bojammer mused.  "Let's see if we can change that."  Once again, he snapped the whip at Trivette, laughing as it intentionally missed the Ranger.

          The Ranger jumped as the whip danced close to his face, muscles tense with expectancy.

          In the distance a deep rumble of thunder expressed the two officers' frustration.  Another storm was approaching.

          "You son of a bitch," Caine snarled, struggling with his captor.  "You get your kicks out of torturing someone—"

          Limon stepped up to Caine, ready to beat him into silence, but Bojammer forestalled him.  "No, wait, I have something better in mind for this one."  Pulling an object from his pocket, he tossed it at Limon, who grinned as he recognized it.  "Have fun."

          "I will."

          Peter also recognized the object:  a stun gun.  _God, I'm getting tired of this!  Pop, I could use your help right about now!_

          Limon advanced, grinning slyly as he made sure the stun gun had a charge.  "Hey, Simmons!  Get over here and help Wallace hold this guy."

          Bojammer turned his attention back to Trivette.  Coiling the whip, he then let it fly with force, laughing as it cut deeply into the man's back.

          "You might be telling the truth about not knowing anything, but you still deserve killing, nigger."

          Trivette blinked back tears of pain.  "Go to hell!"

          Enraged, Bojammer whipped him again.  "No one talks to me like that, especially not a nigger."  He scored more lashes along the Ranger's back, laughing as his captive barely choked back a cry of pain.  "Not so silent now, are we?"

          Behind them, Limon achieved success with his prisoner.  Peter couldn't hold back his screams any longer.

          The wind picked up as the storm moved closer, lightning strobed as large drops of rain splattered the area.

          Bojammer turned to check on their progress, then raised the whip, striking Trivette again and again.  The black man stood slumped against the tree, only the handcuffs keeping him upright.

          "Looks like he ain't so tough, after all," he muttered, letting the whip fall to the ground.

          "Hey!" Wallace yelled, pointing to the horizon.  "There's a chopper landing out beyond the ridge!"

          "Better go check it out, Carl," Bojammer advised.

          "Shit!" the other man swore several minutes later when he returned.  "It's a DPS chopper, Henry.  Cops are on foot, heading this way.  Looks like the storm grounded the chopper."

          "Okay.  Don't panic.  Wallace, Carl, go set the explosives.  Simmons, bring the jeep around."

          "What about the pigs?" Limon wondered.

          Bojammer studied both men.  Neither looked like they were in any condition to make a run for it.  "Leave 'em.  The blast'll finish them off for good."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Peter's captors dropped their hold on him to begin preparations for moving out.  As he'd hoped, they'd overestimated the seriousness of his condition.  He knew he couldn't last in a prolonged fight, but he sure as hell could run fast enough to get away from there.

          But what about the Ranger?  The tree stood twenty feet away, and he glanced in Trivette's direction, swearing under his breath as he saw the lacerations on the other man's back.  For a moment he thought Trivette had to be unconscious; but, as if feeling Caine staring at him, Trivette slowly turned his head, meeting Peter's gaze.  Although the pinched look on his face spoke volumes of his pain, his eyes shone bright with anger.

          That gave Peter all the impetus he needed to get to his feet.  Checking that their captors remained preoccupied, he made his way to Trivette's side.

          "Get out of here, man!" the Ranger hissed.  "That's gotta be Walker on the way.  Go find him."

          "No way, pal.  I'm not leaving you here."  Trivette had just about sacrificed his life for Peter and the detective couldn't turn his back and walk away.

          "What're you gonna do?  Cut down the damned tree?"

          Caine tried for humor.  "You wouldn't have another handcuff key, would you?"  He forestalled the answer.  "No?  I didn't think so.  Okay, let's try Plan B."

          "Which is…?" Trivette demanded impatiently.

          "Hang on.  I'm working on it," Peter said, drawing in a deep breath and forcing his thoughts to focus.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Caine and Walker conducted a thorough search of the small house in a run-down neighborhood at the edge of the city.  There was nothing.  Returning to Walker's pickup, they climbed in and pulled the doors shut.

          "I've got a bad feeling about this," Walker muttered softly.

          Caine nodded as he glanced at the Ranger, evaluating the man silently.  Cordell Walker was a man he could trust, that he could easily sense.  Looking deeper, he could see that Walker was well grounded, secure in his understanding of himself – both the light and the shadow.  That was the mark of a man on his own spiritual path, and a man on the path had an open mind…

          A sudden wave of pain and anger washed over Caine and he reached out to steady himself with a hand against the pickup's dashboard.

          "You all right?" Walker asked, his expression sincere.  He shivered, sensing something was going on but unable to focus it.

          "Yes," Caine said as several images flashed through his thoughts: Peter, his face bruised and bloody; a fist poised to strike; the young Ranger, dangling by the neck from a rope.

          Caine blinked rapidly several times, clearing the haunting mental snapshots before he met Walker's troubled gaze.  "But I do not think my son and your partner are all right."

          "What do you mean?" Walker asked, trying hard not to make is sound like a demand.  If Trivette didn't make it…

          "Just a… feeling," Caine stated, deciding what he had to do.  "Is there someplace you feel perfectly safe?"

          Walker nodded cautiously.  "My ranch."

          "We must go there.  Now."

          Questions pressed on every thought, but the red-haired Ranger ignored them and started the engine.  There was something about Caine…  Maybe it was the fact that he was a priest; maybe it was just that he reminded Cordell of the elders on the reservation, but regardless, he trusted the man, and respected his abilities.

          He pulled into traffic and headed for the ranch by the quickest route possible.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Walker and Caine sat on the floor opposite each other in the ranch's small family room.  A modest fire snapped and danced on the raised brick fireplace. 

          Caine pulled his legs into a comfortable lotus position and instructed Walker, "Make yourself as comfortable as possible.  Relax."

          "What do you have in mind?" Walker asked, a hint already forming in his thoughts.

          "I am going to leave my body and look for my son.  My spirit will seek out his."

          Walker nodded.  The elders called it "dream walking," although not many had ever actually done it.  Still, they talked about it and told stories about how shaman in the past could travel to faraway places.  It was dangerous for the untrained, but he suspected that Caine was anything but a novice.

          "What do I do?" the Ranger asked.

          "You will remain here," Caine explained.  "You will be an anchor so I can find my way back."

          Another nod.

          Caine rolled his neck, then extended his hands.  Walker took them in his own, holding them lightly.  "Close your eyes, concentrate on this place, the structure, the land, the fire burning on the hearth…"

          Walker closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting himself relax as much as he could with worry haunting him.  He listened to the fire burning, remembering the last time he and Trivette had sat in the room, talking quietly about the case they were working on…  His thoughts drifted of their own accord and he saw himself in the barn, brushing Amigo, riding with Trivette, the two of them sitting on the back porch…

          Caine waited until he felt Walker connect with the place he called home and the man he called his partner, then took a deep breath and let his spirit slip free of his body as he exhaled slowly.  He looked down at his body and Walker, making sure the link was there and strong.  It was.

          He floated up, passing through the roof of the house, and looked down on the ranch.  A slight glow marked the two men and he knew he would be able to find his way back.

          He let himself float, thoughts focusing on Peter…

          His son…  Peter Caine… his son…

          Caine shifted position in a flash of consciousness, finding himself looking down on a small, rundown cabin in the middle of the Texas wilderness.  Next to the scanty cabin was a shed shrouded in darkness and pain.  The priest allowed himself to drift closer to the funereal structure.  He could sense Peter inside and dropped through the roof.

          Peter leaned over the apparently unconscious form of Jimmy Trivette.  Even in the darkness Caine could see the two men had been savagely beaten.  A tiny flare of anger tingled along Caine's consciousness and he forced himself to leave the two men, rising above the shed and cabin to study the landscape.  He looked for large landmarks, finding a range of hills with a notched gap to the east.

          Rising farther above the scene, he saw a narrow but deep river and several empty washes running north to south.  High voltage transmission lines ran along a two-lane road to the west.  In the near distance sat a large ranch house and Caine drifted closer until he could make out the name rendered in wrought iron across a tall arch over the driveway:  The Rocking K…

          He let himself float, releasing the place and reaching out for Walker, letting the man's essence draw him back to the ranch, the house, small room, then the Ranger himself.

          Caine blinked and opened his eyes.

          "Did you find them?" Walker asked.

          He nodded, then described the location.

          The Ranger's eyes narrowed.  "I know where it is.  We'll need a chopper."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Walker held tight to the strap above the chopper door and decided that the pilot's nickname "Crazy Jim" was well earned.  The ex-Vietnam combat pilot pushed the helicopter as hard as he dared, trying to outrun the thunderstorm cell rapidly moving in on the area they were headed for.

          A flash of lightning and a crack of thunder rattled the craft and Jim whooped.  "That was a little close!"

          "Are we going to make it?" Walker asked over the clatter of rain against the metal skin of the chopper.

          "We'll make it," Jim assured him.  "Then you're on your own!  I'm grounded until this cell passes."

          Walker nodded.  "You just get us there."

          Jim nodded, a devilish grin spreading across his face.  "Hang on."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The storm increased in intensity, rocking the chopper and turning Jim's excited expression serious.  "Okay," he announced.  "I'm going to have to set this baby down.  You're a hundred, maybe two hundred yards off the target."

          "Thanks," Walker said, reaching across to give the man's arm a slap.  "Stay here.  I'll call when we've found them."

          "Will do.  Good luck!"

          Walker and Caine climbed out of the chopper, bending low to avoid the chopper blades that still turned.  Walker took the lead, jogging steadily for the small buildings in the distance.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "What are you doing?" Trivette asked as Peter fingered the handcuffs.  The young man's eyes were closed as if in deep concentration.

          "Shhh, I've almost got it."

          "Got _what?_ "  The Ranger glanced around nervously, expecting their captors to return at any minute.  So far, they'd remained busy, trying to make sure all signs of their presence were destroyed.

          Peter drew in a deep breath, then using his fingers like a chicken's beak he struck the keyhole on each cuff.  "Ah-ha!" he hissed, holding up the opened cuffs.  "C'mon, let's get the hell out of here."

          "Right behind you," his companion replied, trying to ignore the renewed pain that wrapped his raw wrists in a searing burn.  "But how'd—?"

          Peter turned, grinning.  "A little Shaolin cop magic."

          "Why me?" Trivette moaned, looking heavenward.  "Isn't one mystical Cherokee enough?"

          Peter glanced at him curiously, but didn't press for an explanation, too intent on their escape.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Neither man could run fast, but they set a steady pace.  All things considered, Jimmy figured it was a minor miracle that they were on their feet at all.  Desperation was a good motivator.  That and he knew Walker had to be in the area, but he and Peter couldn't chance waiting around.

          "Hey!  The pigs are loose!" a cry came from the shack.

          "Damn!" Jimmy swore, trying to add speed.  Overtaking Peter, he led them into the rough countryside.  Walker would have a name for the rugged terrain, but to Trivette it looked like desert.

          "We're sitting ducks out here," Caine protested, slowing his pace.

          "Keep going!" Jimmy ordered.  "Storm's getting stronger.  The rain'll make it harder for them to track us out here."

          Not for the first time Trivette thanked the powers that be for his partner's insistence that he take a basic desert survival course.  That, combined with Walker's own instruction, had taught him some valuable lessons.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Damn it!" Limon swore.  "I knew we should've kept an eye on them!  Now what do we do?"

          "Hindsight's twenty-twenty, Carl," Bojammer snapped.  "And what we do is get after them.  Take Wallace and Simmons with you.  I'll finish up here."  He grabbed Limon's arm as the other man passed him.  "And don't leave any bodies where they can be found, understand?"

          "Yeah.  But I got a question," Limon said.

          "What's that?"

          "Where're we gonna meet?  You've got the jeep."

          "As soon as I blow the buildings, I'll come after you guys.  If you haven't caught our guests, we'll use the jeep to run 'em t'ground."

          "How do we know you'll come after us?" Wallace challenged.

          "Well, I guess you'll just have to trust me.  Now, go get them!  They've got enough of a head-start as it is."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The rain, when it started, felt good, providing the first real water either officer had tasted in a day.  It fell in sheets, reducing their visibility to almost zero.  Trivette knew they'd have to watch for flash floods in the many washes that crisscrossed the desert.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Walker felt the coming blast a split second before it happened, then the explosion, pressing him into the rain-damp dirt that was still dusty.  He covered his head with his arms and curled into a ball, trying to protect himself the best he could.  When the rumble faded, he straightened and climbed to his feet.  Next to him, Caine did the same.

          "You all right?" the Ranger asked.

          Caine nodded, staring at the tangled, burning rubble that had been the cabin and the shed.

          Walker followed the man's gaze, a sudden tightness in his chest making it difficult to draw a deep breath.  "We're too late."

          "No," Caine said, taking a step to stand next to Walker.  He reached out, resting a hand on the Ranger's shoulder.  "I would know if my son had been killed.  He is alive."

          "But Trivette—"

          "Open yourself to the truth.  Does he feel dead to you?"

          After a moment's consideration, Walker shook his head.  "No.  No, he doesn't."

          "Then they are both still alive."

          Walker glanced at the priest and weighed the words and the feelings, then nodded.  "Come on."

          They moved to the ruins, the two men splitting up.  Walker walked slowly, reading the footprints still visible in the dust like words on a page.  Moving to the shed where Caine had said the pair was being held, he paid closer attention, noting the different sets of scuffed prints.  Trivette and the detective had been taken out…

          He followed the tracks, noting where they'd been separated, Trivette tied to a tree, Peter Caine held a short distance away.  Squatting down, Walker reached out, dipping his fingertip into a nearly dry splatter of blood.  Trivette's blood…

          _What the hell did they do to him?_

          He touched the dusty depressions…  Caine had made his way over – untying Trivette?  He followed the tracks with his gaze.  The pair had escaped into the desert.

          He looked up, finding Caine standing next to the tree.  "They have gone into the desert," the man stated.

          Walker nodded.  "This way," he instructed, following the trail of staggering footprints.  "Be careful, this land's crisscrossed with washes that'll be running after the storms.  They don't look deep, but they're fast and you can get swept away easier than you'd think."

          "I understand," Caine assured.  "But we must hurry."

          Walker needed no more encouragement to pick up the pace.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Why don't we just hole up in one of these ditches?" Peter asked, trying to ignore the increasing chill of the rain that made his teeth want to chatter.

          "No way.  Those aren't ditches, man.  They're washes left by flash floods.  You get caught in one when a downpour hits…"  Jimmy shook his head.  "They might not find you 'til the next storm season."

          "So what do we do, huh?  They're gaining on us!"

          "We keep running."  Trivette pointed to the northeast.  "That's the direction they spotted the chopper from.  I figure we head toward the chopper and with any luck Walker and your father are behind us, bringing up the rear."

          Caine didn't have strength to argue, or a good enough understanding of the terrain.  He had to trust that Trivette knew what he was doing.

          Fortunately, the increasingly heavy rains took away any advantage their pursuers might have had.  Both groups were moving much slower than normal, trying to avoid obstacles on the ground while shielding their faces from the large driving drops.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A yell from somewhere behind them told Peter their pursuers had gained some ground.  Seconds later, a gunshot rang out.

          "Damn!" Jimmy swore, stumbling but staying on his feet.  He didn't know how much farther he could run.  The abuse had combined to sap his strength and stamina, and the cold wind and rain were quickly draining what little reserve he had left.  Still, he knew he couldn't stop.  More than his life depended on it – he had Caine to think of.

          Another shot, closer now, and a yelp from Peter told Trivette their pursuers had hit one of their targets this time.

          Peter hit the ground, rolling, and Trivette veered to his side, trying to figure where he'd been shot.

          "How bad?" he snapped, looking behind them for signs of their attackers.

          "My side," Caine gasped, trying to catch his breath.  "I think it's a flesh wound.  Hurts like a son of a bitch, though."

          "Yeah, don't they, though?" Trivette ripped a strip of Peter's shirt free, folding it into a bandage and pressing it over the wound.  "Here, hold this."

          He tore more strips from the other man's shirt, tying them lengthwise, then wrapping the piece snugly around Peter's torso, holding the makeshift bandage in place.

          "Can you keep moving?"

          "I think so."

          "Good."  Trivette helped Caine man to his feet, keeping an arm around Peter's waist to steady him.

          Their pursuers had closed the distance between them and continued to gain ground.  As they drew nearer, they began firing again.

          "Damn!" Trivette snapped, looking for cover, knowing their chances of avoiding their pursuers' bullets were growing slimmer.

          In the distance, he heard the distinctive deep bark of Walker's Colt.  Help was on the way, if they could just stay out of range long enough…

          "Come on," the Ranger said, starting off, still supporting the detective.

          They ran parallel to an empty wash for a dozen or so yards, using the low trees and shrubs that clung to the banks as cover the best they could.  Shots buzzed by, tearing off splinters and leaves.  The crooked wash looked deeper than most, indicating the frequency and severity of the flash floods that swept through the area.  Still, it was empty and dry at the moment and it would give them the best cover they were going to find in the middle of nowhere.

          _Maybe if it's just for a minute or so…_  "C'mon."  Trivette steered Peter toward the wash.

          "Thought you said… 's not safe," the other man gasped.

          "Yeah, but at this point it's better than nothing.  Besides, Walker's right behind them.  We just have to keep out of the way long enough for him to catch up."

          "Hope you… know what… you're doing."

          "So do I," Trivette muttered.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Walker followed Caine as the man moved off into the brush.  It was clear from the priest's assured step that he knew where he was going and for a brief moment a pang of envy settled heavily in Walker's chest.  Peter was the man's son, and it was obvious that they shared a close relationship, but the Ranger couldn't deny the desire for the same certainty that Caine felt.  He wanted Trivette to be alive, but wanting and knowing were two very different things…

          Something on the ground apprehended the Ranger's attention and he paused, squatting down to look.  Blood.  _Whose?_

          "They're not too far ahead," Walker said as shots echoed across the landscape like thunder cracks.  He sprang to his feet.  "This way."

          The two men trotted through the rain, the occasional gunfire growing progressively louder.  Here and there Walker spotted more blood, tiny darker pools on the wet ground.  It was almost like the ground was guzzling the rain, leaving only the blood on the surface.

          He glanced at the landscape and frowned.  Trivette and the detective were maneuvering closer to a wide, deep wash.  _Tryin' to get to the trees and brush on the edge for better cover_ , he guessed silently.

          It was a smart move, but the increasing amount of blood splattering the ground worried the Ranger.  If they didn't find the pair soon, whoever was hurt was going to be too exhausted to keep running.

          Another shot rang out, this one much closer than the last.  Walker and Caine dove for cover.

          "That was directed at us," Caine said and Walker was sure he could hear just the slightest hint of humor in the comment.

          "They probably sent someone back to slow us down."

          Caine nodded.  "Perhaps we can shift the odds more in our favor?"

          Walker nodded.  "I'll circle around.  Can you draw his attention?"

          Another nod.  "I would be able to do that."

          Walker slipped into the brush and disappeared, knowing the militia man was about to get more than he'd bargained for.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Simmons moved slowly, carefully toward the still figure of a man lying on the ground.  "I got the Chink," he said softly, a smile curling his lips.  "Hot damn."

          He moved closer in a nervous crouch until he was standing next to Caine's body.  Using the tip of his scuffed cowboy boot he nudged the priest over, his eyes narrowing when he saw no blood.

          "What the hell?" he muttered.

          "Hold it, right there," Walker said, his voice low and menacing.

          Simmons ignored the order and spun, his gun coming up in his hands.  With no time to waste, Walker shot the man.

          Caine climbed to his feet and the pair started off again, following the sounds of a sudden hail of gunfire.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A few minutes later Walker and Caine dropped behind a wind-polished rocky outcrop and watched three men firing in the direction of the wash.  It was impossible to see Jimmy and Peter, but it was a good guess that the pair had taken cover in the arroyo.

          Caine reached out, resting a hand lightly on the Ranger's shoulder.  "Listen," he said.

          Walker cocked his head slightly to one side.  Then he heard it, a low, deep growl that was quickly escalating to a roar.  "Flash flood!" he snapped.  "Come on!"

          The pair bolted forward, closing the gap between them and the remaining three shooters.

          "There they are!" Walker yelled, catching sight of Trivette and Peter, then pushing himself to run faster.  _Let it be in time!_

          Their quarry had, for the moment, given up shooting at the younger pair, turning instead to face the threat from behind.

          Walker fired twice, killing one of the men before running out of bullets.  Not taking the time to reload, he closed the distance, using brush and rocks as cover until he was close enough to Limon to use his hands and feet on the man.  With a quick roundhouse kick he knocked the revolver from the man's hand.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Limon grinned maliciously, reaching back to grab the knife that rested in a sheath on his belt.  Pulling it free, he advanced on Walker, whipping the blade back and forth like the tail of an annoyed panther.

          The Ranger took a step back, his gaze locked on Limon's, trying to read the man's ability in the cruel expression.  _Well trained and dangerous_ , he concluded.  Limon was an accomplished street fighter as well as having some military training.  It wasn't going to be easy.

          Walker dropped into a crouch as Limon lunged straight toward him, thrusting the knife toward his abdomen.

          Bojammer turned his attention to Caine.  He watched the older man drop into a ready stance, looking for an attacker, and licked his lips.  It would feel good, very good, to kill the Chink.

          Rising from the cover of a rocky outcrop, Bojammer fired at Caine, then blinked when the priest spun to face him, untouched.

          _Nobody can dodge bullets_ , Bojammer told himself, firing again.

          Caine was no longer there.

          The militia man jerked straight, looking for the priest.  He turned just in time to see a blur as the side of Caine's foot slapped his face, dropping him to his knees.  Another kick lifted Bojammer into the air and laid him soundly into the dust, unconscious.

          Caine spun just in time to see Limon charge Walker, knife in hand.  The Ranger blocked Limon's arm to the outside, the blade just glancing along shirt and skin.  A fine cut along Walker's rib was nothing more than a slight sting and he stepped forward to the left, his right leg coming up and lashing out in a savage roundhouse kick that doubled Limon over, but didn't knock him down, or dislodge the knife.

          Using the vulnerable moment, Walker's fingers curled over Limon's wrist, trying to direct the knife away.  He pulled the trapped wrist down, his free hand swinging up, under the man's arm to try and dislocate Limon's shoulder.

          Limon bellowed, his leg coming up to punch into Walker's belly.  The Ranger grunted and let go as he maneuvered for another strike.

          Unnoticed during the fray, Caine moved around the two combatants.  When Walker moved away and Limon's gaze followed, Caine struck, a perfectly focused blow from the beak-shaped tips of his fingers that caused Limon to scream as he dropped to his knees.  Walker finished the militia man off with a well-placed knee to the man's face, sending him sprawling back into the dust.

          Walker whirled, expecting another foe, then relaxed when he noticed Caine waiting for him.  A slight smile crossed both men's lips. 

          "C'mon," the Ranger said.  "Let's get Trivette and your son out of there!"

          The pair sprinted to the edge of the wash, the roar of the approaching flood escalating with each step.

          "Trivette!" Walker yelled.  "It's clear!"  He was sure he saw his partner starting to climb out, but the water wrapped around the younger Ranger, dragging him away from the edge of the wash while he clawed frantically for a handhold.

          "Peter!" Caine called, watching his son and the young Ranger being swept away.

          "C'mon!" Walker called, charging along the wash, trying to keep the two men in sight.

          Walker pushed himself harder, watching Trivette struggling to reach Peter Caine as the young detective was pulled down under the muddy water.

          "Trivette!" he yelled when his partner disappeared as well.

          A moment later both men bobbed to the surface, coughing and flailing several yards further down the wash.

          "We cannot catch them," Caine said, grabbing the Ranger's arm and forcing him to stop.

          "But—"

          "If we run ourselves to the point of exhaustion we will not be able to help them once we do find them."

          Walker knew the older man was right, but as he watched the pair disappear from sight he wondered how Caine could stay so calm.  After all, that was his son who was caught in the flood.  Meeting the man's troubled gaze, he realized that it wasn't any easier for Caine.

          "You're right," Walker admitted.  "Come on, maybe they can catch a branch or find a shallow."

          Caine nodded.  "Let us hope so."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The freezing water numbed Trivette's various aches and pains better than drugs.  Unfortunately, it also numbed his responses, making him sluggish, and he struggled to hold onto the unconscious man in his grasp while looking for something to grab onto as a float or a lifeline.

          The Ranger didn't see the downed tree stretching over the wash until the current slammed his head into it.  To add insult to injury, Peter's not inconsiderable weight pushed him into the rough limbs of the tree a second time.  Trivette clenched his teeth against the pain in his back as branches scraped the whip scores, but managed to wrap his free arm around the dead limbs.

          _We're not going to die in some rain wash!  Not if I have anything to say about it._

          The thought provided enough impetus to propel Trivette closer to the edge of the wash.  He managed to inch his way along the length of the tree, moving them closer to the bank, while the current tried to sweep them away.  He concentrated on retaining his grip on Caine, who hadn't regained consciousness.  But he'd have to get them on dry ground before he could check on his companion.

          When he reached the rocky shelf between them and the safety of dry land, Trivette anchored himself against the tree, then managed to hoist his companion half out of the water, draping him over the thicker limbs before agony ripped along his side and forced him to stop.  Nausea made him heave and he fought back a cry of pain.

          _Must've cracked a rib or two when I hit the tree.  Damn._

          Trivette took a moment to rest before slowly hauling himself out of the water, the effort nearly causing him to black out.  Once on dry ground he lay down on the ground and carefully grabbed Peter, slowly dragging him to safety before he fell back and gave in to unconsciousness.

          Peter Caine opened his eyes slowly, wondering how he'd come to be so cold and sore.  And sick.  He rolled over onto his side, vomiting some of the muddy water he'd swallowed.  As his vision cleared, he realized he wasn't alone, and memory came rushing back as he identified the man lying next to him.

          "Oh, my God."  The beatings, the pursuit, and finally the rushing wall of water.  And through it all, his companion had refused to give up.

          _But at what price to himself?_

          Cautiously stretching out a hand, Peter sought the carotid artery, breathing a sigh of relief at the regular beat he found.  Alive at least, but shivering as hard as Peter himself was.  Caine quickly checked for broken bones, relieved not to find any.  At least none he could detect.  Although there was a nasty bruise on the Ranger's temple and he flinched away from Peter's touch on his ribs.

          "Jimmy?"  He gripped the other man's arm, lightly shaking him.  No response.  "C'mon, man!  Don't do this to me.  It's not over yet.  Jimmy, wake up!"

          Trivette finally stirred, coughing to clear his throat.  The movement made him wince.  Groaning softly, he made an effort to focus on his companion.

          "Peter?" he rasped.

          "The one and only.  How're you doin'?"  He helped Trivette sit up, not missing the hissed intake of breath or the strained look as movement jarred abused muscles and unsettled his stomach.

          "I'll live," Jimmy managed.  "But I don't think I'll be enjoying it for a while."

          "Yeah, I'll bet."  Looking around, Peter asked,  "Any idea how far we got carried?"

          "Probably several miles," the other man guessed, glancing around.  "And we're on the wrong side of the wash from Walker and your dad.  Won't make it any easier for them to find us with it getting dark."  He gestured toward the setting sun.

          "Maybe," the cop allowed.  "But that won't stop my dad from trying.  And when he's determined it takes an act of God to slow him down."

          That earned a grin from the Ranger.  "Yeah, so I've seen.  And Walker can track a man blindfolded.  They'll find us, it's just a matter of when."  He shivered as a cold wind brushed over them.  "With the sun going down, it's gonna get cold.  We need to find some kind of shelter."

          Peter nodded.  "Can you walk?"

          "Think so.  You?"

          "Hell, I don't even know if I can stand, yet."  But he carefully managed to gain his feet, extending a hand to the Ranger.

          Trivette accepted the help, and after several painful tries, managed to climb to his feet.  The effort left both men panting and sweating.

          "Which way?" Peter asked, when they were finally capable of standing independent of each other.

          Jimmy fought the temptation to shrug.  What had Walker told him about finding shelter?  He tried to get past the fog in his brain.  _Think, Jimmy!  Peter's life depends on you remembering.  Check for natural possibilities first._   Squinting his eyes, he saw nothing promising in the immediate surroundings.  Wait… was that a shed?

          "That way," he pointed.

          Caine nodded and they slowly set off in the direction of the small, lopsided building.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It took them nearly an hour to reach their destination, most of the time being spent supporting each other as they forced themselves to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

          "I'm sorry," Peter murmured as Jimmy flinched when his arm inadvertently touched one of the whip scores.  He shifted his grip higher onto the man's shoulder.

          "Not… your fault," Trivette rasped.  He swallowed down the nausea once again.  "We're… almost there."

          The building turned out to be an old pump-house.  Small, dusty, and drafty thanks to a half caved-in roof that gave the building its lopsided appearance.  Still, it looked like luxury accommodations to the two bone-weary men.

          Fortunately, no lock barred the door as Trivette didn't think he or Peter had the strength to force their way in.  He eased Caine inside, helping him sit down in a less than graceful move before collapsing next to him, careful not to let his back touch the wall.

          "This is pretty far off the beaten path, y'know.  Think they'll be able to find us?"

          Trivette looked sharply toward his companion, but in the now-dark evening couldn't make out his expression.  "You said yourself that your dad's a determined man.  So's Walker.  They'll find us."

          "Yeah… Peter sighed.  "Hurry up, Pop, I could really use a cup of hot tea and some of the Ancient's ginger cookies."  The man giggled softly.

          "Make that an order for two," the Ranger agreed.

          Not knowing what else to say, Jimmy lapsed into silence.  He knew if they could survive the night, their chances of being found were good.  But it was getting through the night that worried him.  Between the beatings and being shot, Caine wasn't in good shape.  As for himself, beyond the ribs and his back, Trivette suspected he could add at least a mild concussion to the list, along with numerous bruises.  Not life-threatening.  _Can't let either of us go to sleep, though._

          As his eyes adjusted, Trivette realized that the moon had come out, providing them with some light.  Cautiously using his hands, he searched the floor of their shelter.

          "What're you looking for?"

          "I'm not sure.  Hah!"  What they really needed was a fire, but light would at least help them cope with the long night ahead.  And the lantern he'd just found might provide that, if it still had fuel… and if he could get it lit.

          Fuel turned out not to be a problem, but he doubted he'd find matches as well.  "You wouldn't happen to have a dry match, would you?"

          "Matter of fact, I do."  Peter pulled something out of his pant pocket, handing it over to the Ranger.

          Trivette blinked a couple of times, nonplused.  The small vial held three matches, sealed tightly enough that it had survived their unexpected swim.  He withdrew one, striking it against the wall.  It ignited, and he quickly touched it to the wick of the lantern, relaxing as the flame caught and burned steady.

          He studied the vial before returning it.  It had what he guessed were Chinese characters painted on it, faded by time.  Reaching out, he passed it back to Caine. 

          "My dad gave it to me when I was a kid," Peter explained, reverently fingering the object.  "For a while, it was the only thing I had to remember him by."

          "Remember him—?  Then Kwai Chung Caine isn't really your father?"  Funny, he could have sworn…

          "Chang," the other man corrected absently.  "Yeah, he's my real father.  My mom died when I was a baby, and when I was thirteen the Shaolin temple we lived in was attacked and destroyed.  We both thought the other was dead until a few years ago, when he showed up in my city.  We've been… getting reacquainted ever since."

          "Whew.  That's rough."

          "At first," he said, nodding his agreement.  "But we're doing okay now."  Peter studied his companion.  "What about you?  You don't sound like a native Texan."

          "That's 'cause I'm not.  I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks in Baltimore.  Came out here to play pro football and—"

          "Wait a minute!  You're _that_ Jimmy Trivette?  'Go Long T'?" Caine's voice rose excitedly, then fell off as the energy left him.  "Wow, I loved watching you play, man.  I couldn't believe it when they said you wouldn't be able to play again after that injury."

          "Yeah, well, neither could I, at least not for a while.  Anyway, while my shoulder was healing, I met my first Texas Ranger.  His name was C.D. Parker, and he talked me into going into law enforcement.  Said if I really wanted, I could be like the Lone Ranger.  So here I am."

          "C.D. Parker?  The man who was at the registration table at the shooting competition?"

          "That's him," Jimmy answered, unaware of the pride in his voice.  "He may look like a real easygoing guy, and most of the time he is, but he's forgotten more about catching criminals than some people learn in a lifetime."

          "I'll bet."

          Comfortable silence fell between the men.  In the relaxed atmosphere, it didn't take long for sleep to become a problem.

          "Hey," Trivette reached out, gently shaking Caine's leg as he noticed the other man's eyes drop closed.  "Don't go to sleep on me, Peter.  And don't let _me_ sleep.  We can't afford it."

          Although both men had lost blood, their wounds had more or less stopped bleeding.  Shock posed more of a threat.  Jimmy knew if they fell asleep, their chances of survival would decrease sharply.

          "Yeah, you're right," Caine responded thickly.  Struggling to keep his eyes open, he said, "Tell me about your partner.  Walker, isn't it?  Is he Native American?"

          "Yeah, although you wouldn't know it just looking at him.  His name's Cordell Walker.  His dad was a full-blooded Cherokee and his mother was Caucasian.  The marriage caused a real stir, and it didn't get easier after they had a son."  His voice trailed off as he got lost in the tale.

          "What happened?" Peter asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

          "When Walker was twelve, his parents took him to his first carnival over in the next county.  They had a great time – until they headed back to their car."  He cleared his throat, swallowing hard.  "Three guys stepped out of the shadows, taunting Walker's mother, telling her that she shouldn't've married an Indian and she'd done wrong to bring a half-breed into this world."

          The tale so far didn't surprise Caine.  He'd heard his own share of prejudiced remarks as a part-Chinese/part-white kid growing up in the Shaolin temple.  And certainly his companion had, too.  Still…

          "There's more to it, isn't there," Peter's tone made it a statement rather than a question.

          "Yeah."  The Ranger coughed, then cleared his throat again before continuing.  "Walker's dad had a lot of pride, and couldn't stand them talking to his wife that way.  They got into a fight, and when it looked like Walker's dad was winning, one of the guys pulled a knife and started stabbing.  Walker's mom jumped in to try to help, and they turned on her, too."

          Peter shook his head, shocked.  Whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been this.  He shifted, trying to get warm.  "What happened to his parents?"

          "His dad died on the spot.  His mom died two days later, in the hospital.  Walker was sent to live with his father's uncle on a reservation in Oklahoma after that.  But kids are cruel, and because he looks Caucasian, he had to endure a lot of taunting and abuse.  Even some of the adults didn't believe he should be there.

          "As soon as he turned eighteen he left, joined the Marines.  Served in Vietnam, came back and worked on oil rigs for awhile, then became a cop and got into the Texas Rangers."

          "That's a… pretty incredible story."

          "He's a… pretty incredible guy."  Keeping his eyes open was proving to be an effort.  He let them drift shut.

          Caine noticed, reaching out to gently shake him.  "Jimmy!  C'mon, no fair.  If I can't sleep, you can't either."

          "Hmm?" the other man asked, forcing his eyes to focus.

          "C'mon, Jimmy.  Stay awake!"

          "Sorry," the Ranger apologized.

          "Yeah, so 'm I."  Peter blinked rapidly.  "I'm so tired I could sleep for a month."

          "Make it two," Jimmy slurred.

          Alerted by the slowed pattern of speech, Peter grabbed the lantern, holding it closer to Trivette's face.

          "Whaddya doin'?" the other man waved it away, annoyed.

          "Checking your pupils."  Caine swallowed his apprehension as he tested Jimmy's eyes.  "How hard did you hit your head?"

          "Hard enough," Trivette admitted.

          "Your eyes look okay.  How do you feel?"

          Frowning at the sharp tone, Jimmy answered, "Tired.  Nauseous.  Sore.  Probably about as good as you do, _Doctor_ Caine."

          "Just wait'll you see my charge for house calls in this neighborhood," the detective quipped.  Judging from the lump on Trivette's head and his symptoms, a concussion was a good bet.  Fortunately, it didn't seem too bad, as long as he didn't go to sleep.  _As long as…_

          "We gotta keep talking, Jimmy.  It's the only way."

          "Yeah."  After a moment, "Tell me about you and your dad.  What happened after you got separated at the temple?"

          And so Peter told him about the orphanage and Paul and Annie Blaisdell.

          "They sound like great people."

          "The best.  I owe them my life."  He yawned.  "What about you?  You haven't mentioned your family."

          "I have three younger sisters.  Mom raised us with help from her mother."

          "What about your dad?"

          "I, uh, never knew him."  Trivette looked away.  "He disappeared after I was born.  The girls have a different father.  He didn't stick around long, either."

          "Must've been hard growing up without a dad."

          "I don't know, Mom was pretty tough, and if you stepped out of line, watch out!  And she had a couple brothers who kept an eye on us, too."

          "And I'll bet you still raised hell," Caine grinned, shivering.

          "Yeah."

          "Damn, I'm cold…" Peter chattered.

          "Yeah, so 'm I."  Jimmy scooted closer, trying to share body warmth.  It would have been better if he could sit next to Caine, but his back made it impossible to lean against anything.

          "You're sweating," Caine observed, squinting his eyes to double-check in the dim light.

          Trivette wiped his forehead, surprised to find it true.  _Fever… must be my back.  Damn!_

          "Yeah, well you don't look so good yourself, man."  He managed to keep his tone light.

          The other man laughed airily.  "No surprise.  It's been a long day."

          "That's an understatement."  Trivette shifted, wincing as his ribs and back protested.

          _C'mon, Walker!  Where the hell are you guys?  We're in serious trouble here._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Walker and Caine continued walking along the arroyo despite the gathering darkness and cold.  The roar of the flood slowly dissipated, replaced by a deceptive gurgle as the water danced over the rocks lying in the bed of the wash.  A sharp breeze swept over the damp land, drying the dirt and lifting the resulting dust just enough to be uncomfortable.  Tiny particles stung their arms and faces and left a fine layer of grit in their ears, noses, and mouths.  Above them the clouds moved rapidly, keeping the moon hidden.  Heat lightning strobed occasionally at the horizons, but did little to light their way.

          Walker stumbled occasionally on unseen rocks, roots, and folds in the ground.  He silently pondered how it was that Caine seemed immune to the problem, but he knew they'd be better off conserving their strength and decided to forego asking.

          Every twenty-yards or so they called out, hoping for a reply that never came.  When they reached a spot where Walker decided the two men could not have reached alive, he stopped.

          "My son grows weaker," Caine said softly in the darkness.

          "They must have gotten out and gone looking for shelter," Walker said.

          "They could not have gone far," Caine said.

          "Far enough to make it next to impossible for us to find them in the dark," the Ranger replied, absently, trying to remember if there were any ranches or line shacks in the area.  "We're not even sure which side they got out on."  With a sigh he asked, "Can you do anything?"

          "I will try," Caine replied, but the tone of his words did little to raise Walker's spirits.

          Walker heard the man sit down on the ground and did the same, listening carefully as Caine drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly and softly.  A second and third breath followed the first.

          "They are alive," Caine said softly, his voice strangely disembodied in the murky darkness.

          "But _where_ are they?" Walker asked.

          "They are weak… close by… not near the wash."

          Walker could hear the strain in the man's voice as he reached out with senses that most men denied to try and find his son and Trivette.  The Ranger prayed silently to God and the spirits of his Cherokee ancestors that Caine was successful.

          "They are on the other side of the wash," the priest finally said.  Then, leaning forward he took one of Walker's hands and swung it to the east.  "In that direction."

          "Then that's the way we'll go."

          The two men climbed to their feet and headed out again.  Crossing the arroyo proved easy with only a small trickle of water left.  Once they were on the other side Walker began walking a search grid heading straight out from the wash, turning, heading back to the wash, then back out again.  Time and again they walked the pattern, finding nothing.

          "Maybe we should rest," Walker finally suggested, not sure what kind of condition the priest was in.

          "No," Caine replied.  "Peter grows weaker.  We must find them before the sun is up."

          "All right," the Ranger replied, hoping that Trivette was still alive and that he stayed that way until they could find them.

          _Hang in there, Trivette_ , he called silently.  _We're on the way, partner.  It won't be much longer._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Trivette stirred, not sure what had caught his attention.  For a moment, he thought he'd heard Walker's voice.  But that was impossible.  _Must be the fever rising._

          "Peter?"  He'd been getting increasingly fewer and weaker responses from the other man.  Much longer and— He savagely cut the thought off.  "Caine!"

          "Mmm," the cop muttered, shifting slightly.  He opened his eyes, blearily trying to focus on his companion.  "Jimmy?"

          "Yeah.  I'm still here, man."

          "Thought… I heard my dad…"

          "Yeah, I thought I heard Walker.  They must be nearby."

          Weakly, Peter reached out, laying a hand on Jimmy's arm.  "Getting worse…"

          Unsure who he was referring to, the Ranger nodded.

          "Might not… make it," the other man whispered.  Ignoring Trivette's attempt at protest, Peter continued, "At least… not alone.  You're… a hell of a partner."

          "You too," Trivette managed.

          But Peter hadn't heard.  He lapsed into unconsciousness, and this time Trivette didn't try to rouse him.  He had the sudden sense that their survival had been taken out of his hands.  With a sigh, he gave in to his own desire for sleep.  Curling up next to Peter, he rested his head on the other man's thigh.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "They are… very close."  Caine halted, searching the horizon in vain.

          "Are we still heading in the right direction?  We should've found them by now."

          The priest stood motionless, concentrating.  After several minutes he sagged and would have fallen had Walker not caught and steadied him.

          "Caine?"

          "Peter is… so weak.  I fear he is dying."  He straightened away from Walker's grasp, briskly walking off to the east.  "We must hurry."

          Walker didn't argue.  At this point he had nothing to lose if he followed Caine.

          Fifteen minutes later they nearly stumbled over the old pump-house.  They had probably passed within yards of it at least once through the night, unable to see it after the moon had disappeared in an overcast sky.

          "This must be it!"  Walker nearly tore the door off its hinges in his haste to get inside.

          The lantern still burned, casting enough illumination for Walker and Caine to identify the occupants.

          "Peter!"  The priest moved to his son's side, carefully gathering him in his arms.

          "Trivette—"  Walker knelt by his partner, visually checking him over.  The younger man lay facing him, back to the wall.  He appeared to be unconscious, and the older Ranger reached out to gently shake him.  The heat of fever could be felt easily.  When Walker got no response, he placed a hand on his partner's back.  The wet stickiness of blood registered a half-second behind Trivette's moan of pain.

          Walker gently rolled the younger man toward him, exposing his back.  Rage filled him as he saw the lacerations, realizing what Limon and his thugs had done.

          "Those bastards—"

          Caine met his gaze, his own eyes dark with emotion from examining his son.   "They need medical attention.  Quickly."

          Walker nodded.  "We can't carry them out and Jim can't get the chopper up until it gets light."

          "I can… help them – temporarily."  Caine bowed his head.  "With your assistance."

          "Tell me what you need."

          "Rest one hand on your partner, with the other reach out to Peter."  The priest closed his eyes.  "You will be my anchor."

          Walker did as instructed, realizing he was about to take part in something most of his father's tribe only heard in legends these days.  He shut his own eyes, struggling to clear his mind and open himself to the other man.

          Caine gasped, sensing another presence.  _Walker?_

          _I've never seen this done before, but I've heard the elders speak of something like it.  I didn't know we'd be able to communicate, though._

_It is… unusual._

_He's my partner…_ and _my friend._

Walker cradled Trivette a little closer, mindful of the bruises and lacerations.

          _Then let us begin._

          Walker felt the immediate energy drain, but didn't fight against it.  Rather, he channeled it outward to Caine, letting the priest use it as he chose.

          Time, and his awareness of its passage, spun away.

          _Enough._   Caine finally insisted, gently disengaging.

          The Ranger blinked several times, clearing his mind.  Then he stared down at Trivette, who lay blinking his eyes in an effort to focus.  He glanced over at the Caines.

          "Pop?" a weak voice whispered.

          "I am here, my son."

          Trivette tried talking, but found he had to clear his throat a couple times before anything came out.  "'Bout… time."

          "Yeah.  It's over, Trivette.  You and Caine are safe."

          "Bojammer?  Limon?"

          "Dead."

          The younger man's eyes closed briefly, and he sagged with relief.

          With a start, Walker realized dawn had arrived while he and Caine had been linked.  The weak light provided an even grimmer portrait of his partner's injuries.  He frowned, noticing the rope burns and bruises around Jimmy's neck.

          "What the hell—?"  He brought the lantern closer to inspect the pattern of injuries.  Trivette turned away, groaning as his abused body protested.

          "They were playing Hangman.  With your partner as the target," Peter said.

          "Damn them," Walker swore.

          The younger man met his gaze, then quickly broke contact.  But not before Walker read the humiliation in his eyes.

          "Hey, Jimmy…" Peter called softly.

          "Yeah."  Trivette croaked, not opening his eyes.

          "We made it.  We beat 'em."

          The words couldn't have been more appropriate in Walker's opinion.  Or better timed.

          "He's right.  And now it's time to get you both out of here."  Pulling out the walkie-talkie, he raised the antennae and signaled Jim.

          _"Walker, that you?  I've been tryin' to reach you all night, man!  Thought you got lost or somethin'."_

          "Or something, Jim.  We've got Trivette and Caine.  They're alive, but they need medical help, quick as possible."

          _"No problem.  Just tell me where to pick you up.  We'll get 'em to the hospital sooner than you can blink."_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Twenty minutes later, the chopper set down a safe distance from the shack.  Jim unstrapped himself, hopping down from the cockpit and opening up the passenger bay.

          They'd been lucky to get one of the DPS' larger choppers, with room for passengers and two stretchers.  Otherwise they'd have to send for another chopper, or wait for Jim to return.

          Walker ran out to meet him, grabbing one of the stretchers.  As they reached the shack, the Ranger grabbed Jim's arm, detaining him.  At the pilot's questioning look, Walker said softly, "Getting Caine out isn't going to be a problem.  It's Trivette I'm worried about."

          "Well, the sooner we get him out of here—"  Jim took a step forward only to be stopped again.

          "They were racist cowards, Jim.  They whipped him, tore his back open."

          "Son of a bitch!" the pilot hissed.

          "Quiet," Walker cautioned.  "I wanted to prepare you.  He looks pretty bad.  They both do.  It's lucky they managed to survive."

          "Guess you're not the only stubborn one around here, eh, Walker?" Jim grinned, entering the shack.  "Hey, Jimmy, don't you think it's about time you stopped goofing off and got back to work?  You're a bad influence on your friend over there."

          "I'd say something, but there's a priest present," Trivette muttered, grinning at the blank look on the pilot's face.

          Walker relaxed, taking in the byplay between the men.

          "I'm sure it's nothing Pop hasn't heard before," Peter chimed in weakly.

          "Indeed."  The older Caine winked at his son.  "I would be… most interested in what you have to say."

          "I give up!"

          "That's a relief," laughed Walker, going to Trivette and gently replacing Caine.  "Looks like a losing battle, partner."

          Jim walked over to the younger Caine, setting the stretcher down beside him.  "C'mon, let's get you guys out of here.  Caine, want to give me a hand here?"

          The priest quickly moved to assist, and they gently settled Peter on the stretcher.  A faint groan from the younger man was his only admission of pain.  They took him out to the chopper and got him strapped in.

          "Stay with him," Jim directed.  "Walker and I will bring Jimmy out."  To Peter he said, "We'll have you out of here in no time, kid.  Just hang tight."

          "Hey, I'm not going anywhere," Peter slurred.

          The pilot opened a locker, grabbing the first aid kit along with some blankets and pillows before returning to the shack.  "I think I've got a way to get him out of here without causing too much more pain.  Why don't we see if we can put him on his side?  We'll cushion his stomach with blankets to keep him propped up."

          "Sounds as good an idea as any," Walker agreed.

          "Roll him over and I'll put a light dressing on his back.  Might help."

          The older Ranger gently eased Trivette over onto his stomach, flinching as the other man groaned.

          "Jesus Christ!" the pilot breathed, seeing Jimmy's back for the first time.

          "Jim," Walker warned softly, glancing meaningfully at his conscious and alert partner.

          "Guys, you think I don't know how it looks?" Trivette rasped.  "I counted every lash, every single goddamned one.  Just get on with it, huh?"

          Walker rested a hand on his partner's shoulder, briefly squeezing.  "We'll have you out of here in no time."

          "I'd appreciate it, since room service stinks around here."

          "No kidding."

          For all that they tried to be as gentle as possible, Trivette bit his lip, choking back a scream as they settled him on the stretcher.  His back burned with fire, and his ribs ached beyond anything he'd ever experienced.

          "Easy, partner.  The worst is over now.  We'll have you at the hospital in no time."  Walker settled in the empty medic seat nearest Trivette, watching as Caine took the opposite one.

          Jim made sure everyone was strapped in, then got them in the air heading back to Dallas.

          In an effort to keep his mind off the pain, Trivette whispered, "Knew you'd… find us… sooner or later.  Figured it'd be… sooner."

          "Yeah, well, it would've been a lot easier if you'd gotten out on the right side of the wash," Walker groused, keeping his tone light so they'd know he wasn't serious.

          "Right side… my ass.  Damned lucky… we got out at all," Peter chimed in.

          "Luck had very little to do with it, my son."  The older Caine clasped his son's hand tightly.

          "Divine intervention?" Trivette questioned, always the skeptic.

          "You have a better explanation?" Walker challenged.

          "I'll… think about it," his partner whispered, eyes closing in the unequal battle to stay awake.

          "Hey, stay with me, buddy," the older man reached out, gently shaking him.  "Don't go to sleep, Trivette."

          "Umm," Jimmy protested.  "Tired…"

          "I know.  But it's not safe yet."

          "Peter?  You awake?" the injured Ranger called.  It wouldn't be fair if he got to sleep.

          "Yeah."  The detective fondly grinned at his father.  "Think we're stuck with a couple of sadists, Jimmy."

          At that moment, Jim broke in, "If anybody's interested, we'll be at the hospital in ten minutes."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          In the hospital waiting room Walker stood at one of the large windows, looking out at the traffic.  He fought the urge to check the clock hanging on the opposite wall.  Four hours and counting, and the last time he'd looked only three more minutes had passed.

          Caine sat on the floor in one corner of the room, his feet drawn up, his eyes closed.  He looked peaceful and comfortable, a far cry from the Ranger.

          A brief wave of jealousy washed over Walker when he considered that Caine might somehow be watching over his son, but Walker chased it away.  Caine's talents were gifts, but gifts he wished he had right now.  More than anything he just wanted to hear that Trivette was all right; that he'd be fine with a little rest and work.

          The elevator bell sounded and he turned, smiling briefly when Alex stepped out, her concerned gaze immediately finding Walker.  She walked over to join him and gave him a hug.

          "I'm sorry, I was in court and—"

          "It's all right," Walker said quietly.  "We haven't heard anything yet."

          She pulled back.  "But it's been almost five hours."

          "I know," Walker replied, walking her to the southwest-pattern couch and sitting down with her.

          Alex reached out and took his hand.  "Where's Mr. Caine?"

          Walker nodded at the corner and Alex's gaze followed.  She studied the older man for a moment, then looked back at Walker.  "How was Jimmy?"

          "Not good," Walker admitted.  "They…  They did some pretty nasty things to him, and to Caine's son."

          "What?" Alex asked, her face going slightly pale.

          Walker shook his head, unable to put the images he'd seen into words.

          "Cordell?"

          Walker looked up at C.D. as the older man joined them.  "What's the word?"

          "Nothing yet," the Ranger repeated.

          C.D. sat down, shaking his head.  "How's Caine holdin' up?"

          "He's fine," Walker said.

          The threesome glanced up as two doctors entered the room.  Caine opened his eyes and stood.

          The older of the two men flashed a reassuring smile.  "Ranger Walker?"

          Walker nodded, standing. 

          "I'm Dr. Garcia, and this is Dr. Brubaker.  I was Ranger Trivette's attending and Adam worked on Mr. Caine."

          "How are they?" Walker asked as Caine moved to stand next to him.

          "They were both beaten up pretty badly," Dr. Brubaker said.  "But it looks like no permanent damage."

          "Can we see them?" Alex asked.

          "You can see Mr. Caine, but just for a few minutes."

          "What about Jimmy?" C.D. demanded.

          "Ranger Trivette is in surgery," Dr. Garcia explained.  "One of our plastic surgeons is working on his back."

          "His back?" C.D. echoed.

          "He was whipped," Walker said softly.

          Alex gasped, her hand coming up to her mouth.  Walker slipped an arm around her shoulder and drew her in close.

          "He will be fine," Garcia assured.  "You can see him tomorrow morning."

          "I would like to see my son," Caine said.

          "This way," Burbaker said.

          "We'll wait for you here," Walker told Caine as he started after the man.

          Caine nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Entering his son's room, Caine paused for a brief moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

          "Pop?"

          He moved to the bedside and looked down at the bruised face of his son.  "I am here."

          "How's Jimmy?"

          "He is in surgery," Caine explained.  "They are working on his back."

          Peter sighed heavily and let his eyes drop closed.  "He's a brave man."

          "Yes," Caine agreed.  "The doctor said that you will be fine."

          "Glad to hear it," the younger man slurred as sleep frayed the edges of his consciousness.

          Cane reached out, resting a hand on the crown of Peter's head.  "Sleep now," he instructed.  "You will feel better when you awake."

          "'M so tired…"

          "Shhh," Caine soothed.  "Sleep, Peter."

          A soft sigh marked Peter's descent into slumber and Caine waited a moment before he reached down and pulled the blanket up to cover his son's shoulders.  Pressing the palm of his hand gently against Peter's cheek, he then left to find Walker and his friends.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Walker paused just inside his partner's room, taking a deep breath.  He found he had to keep reminding himself that it really was over; Trivette and Peter were safe and recovering.

          "Hey," Trivette croaked.  "You gonna just stand there starin' or what?"

          "I wasn't sure you were awake.  How do you feel?"

          The younger man considered.  "Like I was dragged over forty miles of bad road, man."

          "I'm not surprised," Walker said, taking a seat next to the bed.  His partner lay half on his stomach and half on his side, propped up by pillows.  He wouldn't be lying on his back any time soon.

          Trivette shifted, trying to get comfortable.  "How's Peter?"

          "In better shape than you.  You were both lucky."

          "Lucky.  I blew it out there, Walker.  Could've gotten us both killed."  The injured man closed his eyes, not wanting to see his partner's expression.

          "Funny.  That's not what Peter says."  Walker knew his partner needed to hear this.  "According to him, he'd have been dead if you hadn't been around.  Even if he had made it into the desert, he wouldn't have known how to survive."

          His partner snorted.  "Yeah, like I did any better, dragging us into that wash."

          The horror of watching the floodwater sweep his partner away still lingered with Walker.  "You took the best option you had, partner.  It could've worked.  If you'd stayed out in the open, sooner or later their bullets would have found their mark."

          "That's what I told myself at the time.  But—"

          "No buts, Trivette.  You saved his life, plain and simple."

          Trivette refused to accept that.  "It worked both ways, Walker.  He saved my neck a couple of times, too."  Gingerly fingering the bruises ringing his neck, he added, "Literally."

          The older Ranger nodded.  "His dad's pretty handy to have around, too."

          "No kidding."  Something that had been teasing at the back of Trivette's mind finally surfaced.  "Hey, how _did_ you guys find us anyway?"

          Walker grinned.  "You sure you want to hear this?"

          "What?"  Catching his partner's expression, Jimmy shook his head.  "No, don't tell me, some mystical Cherokee thing, right?"

          "No.  Shaolin magic."

          Trivette groaned.  "Oh, God.  I'm surrounded!"  At Walker's confused look, he explained, "Peter used some kind of Shaolin trick to get the handcuffs off me."

          The older man chuckled.  "One of these days you're not going to have any choice; you'll have to believe."

          "Yeah, right," Trivette yawned.

          Climbing to his feet, Walker said, "Get some rest.  I'll be back later."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The nurse skittered out the door, a relieved expression on her face.  Walker noted the half-amused, half-frustrated glance she shot the closed door and wondered what trouble Trivette and Peter were up to now.  After nearly a week confined to a bed they were both getting restless, and that meant trouble for the staff, especially the pretty ones.

          Walking next to the Ranger, Caine shook his head sadly.  "I think they will be very glad to see my son and your partner leave."

          "Tell me about it," Walker said a smile.  "The sooner the better if the look on that poor nurse's face is any indication.  That's probably why they're releasing them tomorrow."

          "Mmm," Caine replied sagely.

          The pair walked into the room to find Jimmy and Peter lying in their beds, dueling with the television remotes, channels switching rapid-fire from football to wrestling to a game show to a soap opera to a karate match.

          "Come on, man, there's a Cowboys game on!" Trivette lamented.

          "No way, I can't _stand_ the Cowboys!" Peter countered.  "I want to watch the—"  He stopped as Walker cleared his throat.  "Hey, Pop!"

          Caine walked to the side of the bed, then landed a careful slap to the side of Peter's face.  "How many times must I tell you?  Do not call me 'Pop.'"

          Trivette grinned.  "Do that again, will ya?  A little harder."

          Walker shook his head.  "I see you two are getting along just fine."

          "Fine?" Peter repeated.  "He's driving me crazy!"

          "Hey, just because the nurses like me better—"

          "No, they don't," Peter countered.  "You just harass them more than I do so they _have_ to give you more attention."

          "I do not," Trivette countered.  "I wasn't the one who—"

          "Yes, you do."

          "I do not!"

          "It sounds as though they are on the path to a complete recovery," Caine said.

          Walker nodded, then asked just loud enough for the two officers to hear, "That is, if the nurses don't kill them first."

          "Hey!" Trivette responded.  "Whose side are you on?"

          "The nurses'," Walker countered with a smile.

          Trivette pouted while Peter chuckled.

          Walker stepped closer to Trivette's bed.  "And since you're both getting to be such pains in the backside, the doctors are letting you both go home—"

          "Now?" both men choursed.

          "Tomorrow," Caine corrected.

          "Tomorrow?" Peter cried.

          "Aw, come on, Walker, can't you talk to someone?" Jimmy pleaded.

          "Tomorrow," the Ranger said as sternly.  "And until then, try and take it easy on the staff, please?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          C.D. was serving a customer when Alex arrived at the bar, but he grinned at her in greeting, then indicated a booth toward the back.

          "They've got the usual spot, honey."

          "Thanks, C.D."  She made her way through the crowd to the booth Walker and Jimmy usually appropriated.  This time, Peter and Jimmy had staked a claim.  Smiling, she said, "I see they finally let you guys out."

          "About time, too," the younger Caine grumbled as he and Jimmy stood up, offering a seat to the blonde.

          She slid into the horse-shoe shaped booth, choosing to sit between them.

          "No kidding.  I was beginnin' to think they'd never let us out," Trivette agreed.  Frowning, he rubbed his back against the vinyl cushion.

          "Still itching, Jimmy?"  Alex grimaced in sympathy.

          "Yeah.  But it's getting better."

          The attorney nodded.  Both men looked great considering what they'd been through.  The bruises had faded and the rest of their injuries were well on the mend.

          "What time is Walker coming?" Peter asked.

          "Soon."  Alex checked her watch.  "After his shift he planned to pick Caine up and bring him along, show him a night of real Texas hospitality before you guys head back home."

          "Uh, no offense, Counselor, but your 'Texas hospitality' almost got us killed once already."  Peter held up his hands as if warding off further trouble.

          "Don't lump us all together, Peter," Trivette requested, taking a sip of beer.  "Those guys were hardly even human."

          Alex shuddered, remembering Walker's face as he'd told her how he'd found Trivette.

          "Hey!  Why the serious faces?"  Walker clapped his hands as he and Caine approached the booth.  "I thought this was a celebration."

          "It is," Trivette agreed.  He wondered if his companions' expressions reflected his own amazement at the senior Caine's apparel.

          Somehow he'd gotten a pair of Western jeans and boots.  A leather belt with a silver and turquoise buckle added to the outfit.  But the red shirt trimmed with white and the tall white Stetson were what really caught the eye.  It made a startling contrast to Caine's usual somber clothing.

          "Hey, Pop!  What happened, the hotel laundry misplaced your clothes?" Peter asked, his eyes wide and round.

          Alex covered her laugh behind a discreet cough, while Jimmy's eyes bugged in an effort not to burst out giggling.

          Caine took a step closer to the table and topped his hat to Alex, who smiled and inclined her head in reply.

          "Howdy, little lady," the priest said in a perfect imitation of John Wayne.  "Would you care to dance?"

          "I'd love to!" the blonde smiled.  "I don't often get the chance."

          Peter edged out of the booth, and Caine offered Alex his hand in assistance.

          "Pardon me, Pilgrim," Caine said to Walker, who stood, his mouth slightly open.

          With a gracious bow, Alex allowed Caine to lead her to the dance floor.

          Walker's gaze followed them, his head slowly shaking.

          Peter, still standing by the booth, laid a hand on the older man's shoulder.  Leaning close, he whispered, "Don't worry, Ranger Walker.  Pop's totally harmless."  He'd easily detected the source of Walker's unease.  "The women love him, but he'd never sabotage a relationship.  He just likes to two-step…  I've always wondered where he learned, but I decided it was safer not to ask."

          Walker glanced at the young detective.  "Probably a good idea."

          Trivette had crawled out the other side of the booth to get a better view of the dancers.  Moving next to his partner, he said, "Hey, Walker, maybe you should ask him to give you lessons!"

          The older man shot him a withering glare.

          "I'm sure he'd be glad to help," Peter offered.  "He did say something once about living here in Texas for a while."

          Goaded beyond endurance, Walker stalked out onto the dance floor.  Tapping Caine on the shoulder, he waited for the other man to step aside.

          Alex gave Walker a charming smile as he took her in his arms.  When Walker's back was facing Trivette, the younger man gave them a thumbs-up.  Alex winked and grinned in reply.

          "Thanks, Caine," Jimmy said as the priest returned to the booth.

          "It was… my pleasure," the man replied, his usual accent restored.  "Alex is a… graceful partner."

          "Y'know, that kind of switch is gonna be a little hard to do at the altar, Jimmy," Peter noted.

          "Tell me about it," the other man sighed.  "I got it covered if they ever get that far, though."

          "Oh, yeah?  How?"

          "They're gonna have a shotgun wedding!"

          Their laughter caught Walker's attention, and he looked in their direction.  As one, they gave him a thumbs-up.

          Realizing he'd been set up, Walker lost concentration and would have stumbled if Alex hadn't grabbed him.

          Peter gave a theatrical shudder as he caught the glare Walker leveled on his partner.  "You'd better start running now, Jimmy."

          Raising his glass in a mock toast to the couple, Trivette shook his head.  "Naw, he'll be too busy runnin' from Alex."

          As the music came to an end, Walker gathered the blonde attorney closer.  Tilting her chin, he kissed her thoroughly.

          "Well," Jimmy mused, "then again, maybe not."

          Peter wagged his eyebrows and Caine delivered a gentle blow to his son's chin.

          "Hey, Pete," Trivette said, leaning closer to the detective.  "See those lovely young ladies at the bar?"

          Peter looked, smiling when he saw the threesome smiling back at them.  "I do indeed.  I don't know about you, but I feel like dancin'."

          "You're reading my mind," Trivette replied.

          Caine nodded sagely, then slipped back into his John Wayne voice.  "Well, pards, what're we waitin' for.  Head 'em up, and move 'em out."

          On the dance floor Walker and Alex stopped and clapped as the song ended.  Catching sight of the three men chatting with the three young women, Walker shook his head.  "Looks like it's going to be a long night."

          "And what's wrong with that?" Alex asked.  "After all, you've already got a dance partner."

          Walker grinned at her.  "Yeah, I guess I do."  He gave her a hug.

          They were joined by the others as the music started again….

The End


End file.
